The Glory Club

By The Qmoq

Story codes: M/f, nc, humiliation, voyeurism

     Part One

     Peter pushed Alice into the small cubicle and told his wife to strip. Too stunned to react to his instruction, she instead looked around the small, blandly-lit area. It reminded her of a toilet stall, except there was no toilet, and one wall was mirrored from floor to ceiling. The doors and other walls were solid too, yet it still had essence of a toilet-stall in the drab lighting and dull colours.

     “I said strip,” Peter shouted, and ripped open Alice’s blouse. He grabbed the cups of her bra and scooped them over her large, soft breasts.

     “Get your fucking hands-” she snapped, but was slapped in the face and pushed against the wall, before a hand clenched on her neck. She had never been so scared. She stopped fighting back; her husband was strong, but had never been violent towards her.

     “It’s taken me five fuckin’ years to get into this club, and I’m not gonna fuckin’ let you spoil it for me.”

      She blinked at him. This was why he had brought her to this club? This was why he insisted she wore extra mascara and lipstick, and had skipped lunch to sip bottled water all afternoon? She wondered why she would need to be naked. Images of a gang-bang flashed through her mind; she would not let that happen. She would rather die. She twisted out of the neck-lock and rushed at him, then tried to push him to one side to get out of the cubicle. He was too strong for her. He struck her again with an open hand; this second blow deflated her. She cowered away, still standing but with less defiance. She unhooked her skirt, and asked him “What the fucking hell are you doing?”

     “I love you, Alice, but this club... it would mean the world to us. To me. You’ll do anything for your husband, won’t you? You trust me, don’t you?”

     She tilted her head. His eyes softened; those were the blue eyes she had fallen for six years ago. His was the firm chin, the dreamboat jawline with its rough skin, and the short, sandy hair that she adored. His voice became deeper and warmer as he promised her that only he had the key to the door of the cubicle. He admitted that the mirror was a two-way device and people could see in, but he pledged that no-one would lay a hand on her and no-one would fuck her.

     “Why did you hit me?”

     He told her that it was a foolish act; he had panicked and forgotten how much of a beautiful, trusting wife she was. He kissed her and told her that his joining the club was the second most important thing in his life. He was lying. When asked what she had to do, he told her that she had to wear a collar and leash.

     “I’ve got to pretend to be a bloody dog?”

     He assured her that she would not have to be a dog and explained that the leash on the most treasured person in his life was a gesture of allegiance to the club. It was not enough for him to pledge his own devotion; he had to sacrifice the decency of his wife. He slipped the collar around her neck; it was a little tight but if she relaxed, it was comfortable. He clipped a six-foot chain leash onto a loop in the front of the collar.

     “Handcuffs are next. The club doesn’t want you covering yourself up.”

     “Oh. You promise me they can’t get in here?” she asked.

     “I promise on my life.”

     It seemed logical; she was already covering herself up, and if the club wanted a little more loyalty, she was happy to give them some exposure. Peter clipped the handcuffs to her wrists behind her back. Unlike the collar, the cuffs were loose, but they were not coming off without his key.

     His answer to her next question surprised her. She asked, “How long will I be kept in here?” expecting an answer of ‘an hour or so’.

     “Somewhere between twelve and twenty-four hours.”

     “Oh,” she frowned. “Naked? Twenty-four hours?”

     “I like you naked,” he grinned. It was a rare truthful comment. Even in the appalling yellowy glow, she looked adorable. The black collar set off her beautiful white skin and shoulder-length black hair. Her breasts were mouthwateringly round and presented nicely because of the handcuffs; and her bottom was a smooth, perfect curve. The sacrifice for such treats was a slightly thick waist and chubby thighs, but she still considered herself a decent seven, and knew that most people thought her a nine.

     He hugged her. The contact of skin against suit made her acutely aware that she was naked and cold. She weighed up twelve hours of public nudity in exchange for his happiness and devotion, and knew that it was worth it. She did not see him slip the untethered end of the leash through a low hole in the mirrored wall.

     End of Part One

     Part Two

     Lloyd lifted his brandy glass to the air and toasted Peter. “To our newest member,” he said. Around the room, glasses were raised and cigars were puffed. There was a sense of privilege in the air, and Peter knew that his business deals would be more profitable and seamless in the future. He felt bad for Alice, but if she left him, his pre-nup would hold firm in any court in the county. After all, the best lawyers and many of the judges were toasting him.

     “I’ll take a look at her,” said Lloyd, brandishing the ace of spades he had drawn from the pack which entitled him to use her first. He left his cigar but took his brandy from the room, to the cubicle next to where Alice was located. He entered and locked the door behind him. He wanted to be alone. His room was reasonably similar to Alice’s, the main difference being that this was on the voyeuristic side of the mirror. He smiled at the end of the chain that was on his side; Alice had tried to pull it back through but found that the end was stuck in the hole.

     Also on his side was a room-wide ‘spiky pony’; at least, that was what the club called it. It consisted of two pieces of sheet metal, each one just over a foot long, three feet wide, and a half-inch thick. The pieces were hinged together at an angle of fifteen degrees or so, such that they formed a steep foot-high hollow prism with the floor. He grabbed one end of it and pushed it through a perfectly flush slot in the boundary wall.

     “What the fuck? Peter?” yelped Alice as she saw the metal feed through onto her side. She could not see beyond the metal into the other room, but noticed that the tip of the triangle was directly below the hole into which her leash fed. Three inches or so above that – about three and a half feet off the floor - was another hole she hadn’t noticed before; unbeknownst to her, Lloyd had removed a stopper from this hole on the other side. It was circular and an inch and a half wide. She searched in vain for other new features.

     On the other side, Lloyd smiled malevolently as he watched Alice examine the new details in her cubicle. He was tempted to call out to her, but knew the club rules; he had to be anonymous. He grabbed the leash and began to pull on it.

     Alice heard the slack in the chain move before she felt it. Someone was on the other side, pulling on her leash! “Hey! HEY!” got no response. When the chain was tight enough that she would have to crouch to allow any more through, she resisted. She was not in the habit of bowing or kneeling for anyone. She planted her feet and vowed that she would not move.

     Lloyd reacted by looping the chain he had around a small but strong hand-crank pulley system. He then focused on her face as he turned the handle. He watched Alice make her stand, and then he watched her choose to kneel rather than be choked. He kept slowly pulling on the chain until there were only six inches on the other side of the wall.

     As she found herself be tugged closer to the wall, Alice finally guessed that the second hole had a deliberate purpose. She called out for Peter, she begged him to come and take her away. And then, finally, she realised she had been tricked. He had promised her that no-one would fuck her, and no-one would lay a hand on her. No-one would.

     She knelt, one knee on either side of the metal spiny pony. “Ow, fuck,” she cursed as she noticed tiny pinpricks all the way down the sides of the metal. The top was free from pinpricks, thankfully, but a moment of trying to support all her weight on her pussy made her realise that she had to compromise somehow. There was little emotion in her; she was concentrating too much on how to find the least uncomfortable position. The pricks hurt, but did not cut her; the metal top seemed to press most strongly against her clitoris. Her knees began to freeze on the cold, concrete floor, but were of little relative concern.

     Now that she had found her place, she fought back in the only way she could. “Fuckers! I’ll have the whole fucking lot of you arrested!”

     Lloyd unzipped his trousers and pushed them to his ankles. Her cries for freedom had made him uncomfortably hard and he needed release. He was approaching the most dangerous part of the evening, and went through a mental checklist. One does not put ones most sensitive organ within biting distance of an angry woman without some safeguards. It would be so much easier to just explain the situation and her lack of options, but in the club, as in business, and as in life, the easiest option was often not the most enjoyable. He relished the challenge.

     He moved his left hand to a switch on the wall, next to a shelf upon which his brandy rested. Next, carefully, he placed the head of his engorged penis through the hole. When she snapped her teeth at it, he withdrew and flicked the switch.

     “Aooow!” she cried. Hundreds of volts were pulsing through the metal sheets. Her instinctive response was to clench, but this brought her into contact with the pinpricks. Quickly realising what was happening, she spread her thighs widely; there seemed to be no electricity where her pubis was touching the metal. That caused its own problem; her full weight was now resting on her pussy, against two sharp hinged pieces of metal. She held out as long as she could and then pulled her thighs closer together, so they were in contact with the metal sheets and pinpricks. She began to cry. The pain was intense, but Peter’s betrayal hurt more. Was this him trying to get through the hole? She hadn’t been able to tell. She didn’t know if she wanted it to be him, she just wanted to be home, in bed. The pain became too great; it seemed as though the charge was increasing. She spread again. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, leaving blotchy mascara traces.

     Lloyd saw the tears, counted to ten, and then flicked the switch. He wondered if she had learned the lesson; some did, others – such as his second wife – had taken much longer to realise. He hoped that Alice would take at least three repetitions; he loved to see them squirm, weep and suffer. He poked through again; and was almost disappointed when she did not snap.

     “I’ll do it,” she said. Her pain tolerance had always been low, and her intelligence was high. She guessed that, disgusting as it was, having to fellate this man was preferable to being shocked like a lab-rat and still having to perform the act. She knew that she had no choice. When he had pushed an inch through to her side, she discerned that it was not Peter’s. Like Peter’s, it was circumcised, but it was thicker, had a stronger vein underneath, and as he pushed through, she noticed that it was longer than Peter’s.

     She opened her mouth, careful not to catch him on her teeth, for fear of the lightning bolt that would result. His cock entered. When it touched her tongue, she tried to swallow some saliva, but found it hard to breathe. He had begun to pull the chain once more, this time until her lips were covering the hole itself. She could only get a little air through her nose, and began to panic. The cock now filled her mouth, and he was trying to force it into her throat. The collar and her natural gagging reflex stopped him, but he was insistent.

     “Urk,” she retched, pulling away a half-inch and breathing in deeply through her nose. He tugged hard on the chain and went further into her. She realised that it was not a blow-job; it was a throat-fuck. Her thighs clenched again as she tried to twist away, but it only hurt her more. There was no escape. It was too big. She opened her eyes to see herself staring back, frightened and degraded. She gagged dangerously on him.

     He knew what it meant. He pulled out and watch her spit a little sputum onto the floor and then bring up some of that afternoon’s water onto her thigh. He knew that she could not wipe it off, and wondered how wretched that would make her feel. He pulled back on the chain, and entered her mouth again. Long hopeless wails sprang from her mouth. The mascara had run, the lipstick was smudged, and she could do nothing about it. The thought sent him over the edge. He came hard into the back of her throat with a roar, tugging the chain so tight that he could feel her neck constrict around his head. She knew she had to swallow, and spluttered at the taste as his juice trickled down.

     He withdrew, allowing her to breathe, but kept the chain tight, because he wanted to watch her dance in pain while he dressed. He flicked the switch, and the woman moaned in pain as the charge pulsed through her. He wiped him cock with some tissues, never taking his eyes from her face for one moment, until he was ready to leave. He turned off her pain and released the chain so she had the full six feet. She rolled off the pony and stood gingerly, rubbing her knees to get some life back into them, and her thighs to ensure there was no damage. Physically, within moments, she was fine, but emotionally she was feeling betrayed, degraded and used. She felt a rage with Peter, and tried to suppress her rage at herself. What if she had stood her ground and forced the man to choke her to unconsciousness? Would that have been better? What would she do next time? She spat into a corner of the room. There would be others. This man was only the first. He had used her, and now he was going to call in the subsequent man to fuck her mouth. She turned away from the mirror; she could no longer look at herself, and began to cry softly. Her sobs continued until she felt a tug on the chain and found herself being pulled downwards towards the hole once more.

     The End